


First Person Possessive

by Ophelia Coelridge (daemonluna)



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-07-15
Updated: 2000-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:31:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemonluna/pseuds/Ophelia%20Coelridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John drives. Billy sleeps. Joe thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Person Possessive

The highway between Saskatoon and Edmonton is flat and featureless, full of empty spaces. The blank expanses of fence and field and concrete offer no distraction from the blank spaces in your head. The ones where you push down everything you don’t want to think about.

The road spooled out in an endless hypnotic ribbon of concrete and white paint. John had the wheel, all attention focused solely on the single lane in front of him.

The band and crew were silent, lulled into various states of oblivion by a combination of exhaustion, alcohol, and the sway of the van. If anyone in the back besides Joe was still awake, watching the road unwind through slitted eyes, they weren’t showing it.

After swerving unceremoniously onto the shoulder twice in the past hour, Joe had magnamoniously consented to let John take over. But just because it was John’s turn, not because he was too tired to fucking drive, he’d insisted. John, wisely, didn’t argue, though the rest of the band had shouted Joe out of the driver’s seat with tired grumbles about not wanting to die as roadkill.

And now Joe slumped in the back seat, caught in that restless half-state. Too wired to sleep, too tired to do more than watch the roll of the road and the rhythmic sweep of fence posts and telephone poles.

Billy sprawled in the seat next to Joe. He’d drifted off with his head against the seat-back, chin tilted up and neck exposed in a clean, taut line. Joe had had to look away, struck with the wicked temptation to lean over and take Billy’s bared throat in his teeth. To chastise with pain and sieze on any and all vulnerability. To reclaim what was his and mark it with the rough red imprint of his bite. Or just to hear Billy’s startled curse.

But as klick after klick had swept by along the highway in a seamless meld of darkened trees and fences, Billy had slumped further and further sideways in his seat until his head rested on Joe’s shoulder. Asleep and unguarded, he looked oddly vulnerable; the bones at his temples were stark and shadowed, fragile in their rigidity.

If Billy’d been awake, hell, if anyone at all had been awake to see, Joe would have pushed him away with a mocking, affectionate curse, or more likely, caught him in a headlock and refused to let go until he begged.

But for now, he didn’t move. Didn’t disturb the head nestled trustingly in the crook of his neck, spiked hair rough and warm with sleep against the skin below his jaw. And couldn’t decide if he was stronger or weaker for it.

He brushed his knuckles lightly across one high cheekbone, a gesture all at once furtive, tender, and proprietary.

“Mine,” he said softly.


End file.
